


at a bar on new kaon

by Radio Rascal (Vagrants)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Blitz and Megs used to be Good Friends, Depressed Decepticons, Eulogies, Funerals, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, lots of headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 21:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrants/pseuds/Radio%20Rascal
Summary: Blitzwing pens a eulogy and reminisces.





	at a bar on new kaon

**Author's Note:**

> i lied i guess? i woke up today and was like "oh shit! Blitzwing's gotta be sad today!" and wrote almost 3k about it, which i didn't expect. i'm depressed so i wanted to get that mood out i guess.
> 
> on TFwiki it says Blitzwing read the eulogy at Megatron's funeral and built a statue in his honor. i find that very Interesting. casual acquaintances don't do that.
> 
> i listened to these songs while editing:  
> Piano Man by Billy Joel - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdnH4BXVhlA  
> American Pie by Don McLean - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iX_TFkut1PM

Once most of the patrons leave and only the drunkest and loneliest remain, Blitzwing gets some peace. All night, people have come up to his dark little corner, alone and in twos and threes, inconsiderate and timid and quiet and curious, wanting to know, wanting to hear him tell the story again and again. They all want personal confirmation.

Lugnut has shielded him, standing and brooding him against approaching bots. He’s intercepted large groups and stopped them from getting to the table, and shooed away the singles and couples when they overstay their short welcome. Now it’s quiet and Lugnut has no use, but he remains in his seat, clicking a claw against the slate table. The table is a little loose and the motion shakes their half-empty drinks.

Blitzwing’s head leans into his head while his other grips a datapad. The words are starting to look fuzzy and meaningless. Eulogy, says the header. Eulogy.  _ For Megatron, _ Blitzwing adds mentally. This is Megatron’s eulogy.

Lugnut watches him with the patience of a statue. They’ve been here four hours. He leans forward a little and nods. “It’s okay,” he says. “This is just a performance. Perfunctory. Lord Megatron lives. Write something respectful, but don’t think too deeply about it. This is for the less faithful.”

“Count me among them,” Blitzwing snaps. “He’s gone, and I need to do this right.”

Lugnut huffs but says nothing further.

Blitzwing’s processor aches. The white light in this dim place is harsh and painful, not at all conducive to his task, but there’s nowhere else to go besides a building he calls home. He checks the time. It’s an hour until closing, and he intends to use up all the time he can.

* * *

Millions of years ago, before the war, they’re just a couple of jets. They go to alien planets and do what they’re made to do. Blitzwing is happy the moment he comes online, when he’s told his purpose, and even happier when he finds a friend. There’s no need for questions or wondering, because Megatron does that for both of them.

The jungle is noisy. Blitzwing prefers quiet, and has taken the first watch shift in hopes of tiring himself out too much to care. He watches the shadows between the trees, and listens for noises under the noise, and occasionally glances upward when he hears the wingbeats of some flying organic creature. He paces a small rut around their camp and passes the time with himself.

On the ground, Megatron’s in stasis and lying on a mat to prevent grit from getting in his armor. They’re traveling alone to their mission. Megatron’s carrying bombs for his jet mode which he will deploy over the enemy base tomorrow in a surprise attack. Blitzwing is his spotter and bodyguard.

A sound comes from Megatron’s chassis. Blitzwing tenses and steps over to listen, then cracks a smile. Megatron’s engine is whining, and his limbs start to twitch. He mutters something about altitude. He must be dreaming of flight.

They’re still far from enemy territory, so it’s fine to let him make noise, Blitzwing thinks. He wishes he had a camera; this is prime blackmail material. Precious as the image is, he can’t wait to switch places, either.

* * *

Eulogies are hard, and harder for a bot who’s never really written anything in his life that wasn’t a report for a superior officer. What should Blitzwing say about Megatron? What is there to say that everyone won’t have already heard?

_ He was an aft, _ Blitzwing thinks, because it’s true.  _ But what a great aft he was! _

He turns random and cackles. Lugnut looks at him. “What about this for the eulogy: he was an aft, but a great aft!”

Lugnut’s optic narrows. “If you utter those words ever again I will poke you.”

Blitzwing laughs harder. Kill him, go ahead; continue this comedy of errors! It’s dark, darker than it’s ever been, so let’s light something on fire! Might as well be him who goes up in flames!

Lugnut growls and leaves the table. He stands by the window looking out at passersby. Eventually Blitzwing regains his composure.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I forgive you.” Lugnut returns to his position. “Please think of something appropriate, Blitzwing. If you’re going to throw a farce of a funeral, at least make it respectful.”

“I know that. Why do you think I spent all solar cycle on that statue? I’ve got to finish it up tomorrow morning before the service.” He sighs. “But you know, it’s not untrue. Megatron could be mean, even petty. Even to me.”

“Whatever he does is right and true.”

Blitzwing rubs his temple. “Yes, yes, whatever you say.”

* * *

“The triple changer surgery was a success,” Blackarachnia says. “There were, however, some side effects…”

Blitzwing onlines his optics. He’s laying flat on a berth, and Megatron takes up most of his vision. He looks expectant and curious. Blitzwing smiles back at him.

“Did you rest well, Blitzwing?”

“Yes, I think so,” he says, sitting up. His shell feels heavy, particularly his legs. He has new kibble on his shins for his second alt mode. That’s when it becomes real to him—he’s really a triple changer. “You said something about side effects, Blackarachnia?”

“Um...yes.” She shifts around, not meeting his optics. “As the process continued, your processor began to fragment. I tried multiple defragging programs but nothing worked. As I said, you’re a triple changer now, but your processor…”

Blitzwing stares at her.

“What exactly is wrong with his processor?” Megatron asks. “Can it be fixed? Will it get in the way of his job?”

“I don’t know to either question.” Blackarachnia shrugs. “I’m sorry. I wish I had more information for both of you.”

Blitzwing aims his cannons at her and fires before he realizes what he’s doing. Streams of flame shoot out and she barely jumps back in time to dodge. “You insect!” he roars. “You idiot! What did you do to me?!”

“Blitzwing,” Megatron says in a warning tone.

Blitzwing tries to get out of bed, but his awkward numb legs collapse under him. He crashes to the floor and begins pulling himself towards Blackarachnia, who stands in the corner with her limbs all taut against her sides. “I’ll crush you! I’ll destroy you! I’ll—” Laughter bubbles up through his chassis. “Do a little dance!”

“What’s happening to him?” Megatron leans over, a hand cautiously outstretched.

“It must be his processor. This is the damage I was talking about. This is how it’s manifesting.”

“So this is permanent.”

“It might be too early to tell, but so far, it seems that way.”

For the life of him, Blitzwing can’t remember why he’d been angry. Blackarachnia looks so funny, doesn’t she? Just like those weird organics he and Megatron used to fight. “The itsy-bitsy spider,” he sings as he pulls himself to his feet. He feels steadier, but still sways. He grabs Megatron’s arm by instinct, and Megatron frowns.

“Pull yourself together. Stop acting like this.”

“No can do, Lord Megatron,” Blitzwing chirps. “Sorry!”

Megatron’s body language shifts. It’s subtle, but Blitzwing sees it, he’s attuned to it from spending an era with him. Blitzwing’s mood snaps back to normal, back to how he should be, and reality crashes on him as he realizes what has just happened and what it means.

_ It’s over, _ he thinks. Megatron looks at him like a broken tool. He grimaces and stares at the floor. “I’m so sorry, Lord Megatron. I will work on this. I will get better.”

“Hmm. You’ll have to.” Megatron looks him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. “Blackarachnia, no more experiments. We can’t have headcases like this running about the  _ Nemesis _ .”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do what I can for him.”

“You’ll do nothing for me,” Blitzwing snaps, turning on her again. He feels something deep inside heat up and realizes he can’t use ice, only fire, like before. “I’m fine! Don’t touch me! Insolent…” He gasps and jerks his head sharply side to side. “No, please—help—”

Megatron sneers as he steps through the door. Blitzwing gapes after him.

“Help me…”

* * *

Blitzwing hates the eulogy he presents. It’s dry, it’s fake, it feels like something someone who didn’t know him would write—but it’s what the people want, because everyone loves it, which is to say they cry and blubber and nod along at his perfunctory, hollow proclamations of a life well lived, a great and fearsome warrior, et cetera.

It feels like everyone in New Kaon has shown up. The park—if a flat patch of bald rock decorated with cracked crystal sculptures and sagging secondhand benches can be called a park—is full of mourners. Blitzwing doesn’t recognize half of them.

They all stand under open space and listen to Blitzwing’s stilted speech and act like it’s the most beautiful thing they’ve ever heard.  _ Disgusting, _ he thinks, just stopping the fire from surging through his processor.  _ None of you knew him. Some of you never even saw him in person. You couldn’t care about him, not really. Not like me. I cared  _ for _ him. _

Afterward he unveils the statue. Blitzwing isn’t much of an artist, but it’s good enough and nobody is going to complain today. Megatron’s likeness is piled together from scrap metal and bits of stone from inside New Kaon, with liberal applications of magnets for the smaller bits. His expression is stoic but determined, and he has his cannon arm raised to point towards a monument to Cybertron that stands a few hundred yards away. Even in death, Megatron leads the Decepticons home.

He hopes it holds. New Kaon is a planetoid without an atmosphere, so there is no weather, but impacts from micrometeors are common. Mourners start to disperse, many of them walking up to him to tell him how wonderful his eulogy had been, how beautiful the statue, et cetera. Blitzwing presents a blank face and accepts everything with the kind of grace that comes from not caring about anything.

The crowd is close to leaving the park when Lugnut barrels forward. Blitzwing doesn’t see him until he’s right there. He rolls out of the way, his immediate thought being that Lugnut is attacking him, but he keeps charging past Blitzwing’s prone form. Lugnut has the POKE activated and swings before Blitzwing can do anything more than open his mouth to scream.

The world explodes. Blitzwing flies through the air and crashes against the ground. A few hundred pounds of rock rain down around him, coating him with dust and micro-dents. His audials ring and his vision swims as he pushes himself up. Disoriented as he is, he recognizes a metallic piece of debris right away. He’s so angry he can’t switch. Rage flows from all three sides of his personality, and the emotional overload stalls his processor.

“This service is a disgrace!” Lugnut shouts. He stands proud where Megatron had once stood. “Blitzwing is one thing. He is weak in the mind and was there when Lord Megatron disappeared; of course he is traumatized. But you! Where has your faith gone? Are you not Decepticons? Do you not feel in your sparks that our lord still lives? Pick yourselves up right now!”

Blitzwing jumps and shrieks. Lugnut looks over and all the words die from him. All Blitzwing sees is red and all he feels is the rush as his legs carry him forward. His cannons charge and Lugnut raises a fist and everything is noise and pain.

* * *

The mourners leave them to it. By the end, what little of a park there had been is no longer there. Blitzwing sits on a boulder that used to be part of an outbuilding and stares down at his hands. He holds a piece of rubble from the statue, a leaf of metal from the helmet.

He’s gone too far he knows it. In his rage he’s decimated the few remaining pieces of Cybertronian crystal they’d had left. Bots value things like that, they value making places feel even a tiny bit like Cybetron. The monument’s gone too. That hurts the most.

If Megatron were here, he’d give that disappointed glower, and Blitzwing and Lugnut would apologize and get to work on the repairs. If Megatron were here none of this would have happened.

He hears Lugnut come up behind him. “Get away from me,” he says calmly. “Don’t you dare say anything. Just turn around and leave.”

Lugnut’s heavy gait recedes into the distance.

Blitzwing studies the metal leaf in his hand. Nobody will recognize it as part of the statue except him. He won’t make another—it’s not in him.

He stands and tosses it to the ground. Out of the park and down the street he walks, knowing where he’s going without having to think. Bots move out of his way. Their looks are cautious and respectful and afraid. Some of them haven’t seen him since his surgery, some of them probably don’t know what triple changers are. Let them wonder. Blitzwing is done with talk.

The bar’s packed, and loud. Conversations die when he walks in. He shuffles to the corner and collapses in the seat, and the noise resumes hesitantly. The bartender serves his drink with quick nervousness.

He takes out a datapad and begins to write, write a real eulogy, one that makes sense to him and makes sense to the memory of the bot he knew and lost. Only he will read it. He suspects he’s the only bot in existence who would appreciate it anyway.

* * *

It’s dark.

“—ing! Blitzwing!”

Rocks shift. Light breaks through.

Blitzwing lifts his head through the gap in the rubble. Megatron stands over him.

“Are you all right? Anything broken?”

Blitzwing checks his diagnostics. “Just a few dents.”

Megatron relaxes, and moves more debris away. “Good. I didn’t expect you to be over here. When I saw this wall collapse I thought you were dead.”

“It’ll take more than rocks to kill me,” Blitzwing says, scoffing. Once his arms are freed he helps Megatron. In a few minutes, he’s standing. “Thank you.”

Megatron clasps the area between his pauldron and neck. “Look at our work here, Blitzwing. We won.”

There’s nothing left. Metal bits from their fallen friends litter the rubble, mixed in with the corpses of their enemies. Other survivors dot the land, picking what’s left of their friends from the destroyed base. Thanks to Megatron’s sneak attack, it’s been one of their easier victories on this planet, but the casualties still sting.

“Yes, we have.” Blitzwing hangs his head. “Back to base?”

Megatron’s expression is grim. He keeps looking outward. “I’m going to be a Decepticon,” he says.

So that’s it. “So am I.”

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere. It’s not easy to be a Decepticon.”

“Our lives aren’t easy.” Blitzwing lifts a hand to brush some dust from his face. “But it’s a little easier with friends. If you wear that badge, I must as well, for both our sakes.”

“Very well.” Megatron grins a little. “That’s what I wanted anyway.”

He transforms and Blitzwing follows, their engines screaming through the sky.

Blitzwing knows he’s going somewhere unreachable. In that moment it strikes him that he isn’t in control of his life; hasn’t been since he was sparked, and isn’t now as he stumbles blind into the Decepticons with barely a notion as to what they represent.

But Megatron is sure, and Blitzwing knows he won’t lead them astray. He’s a safe harbor in a storm. He’s a good friend.


End file.
